by Jon F. Merz
Finished. The throbbing stopped. Dr. Samson gestured toward the rinse sink. “Go ahead, now Harry. Spit to your heart’s content.”
Harry never felt such relief as when he dumped the frothy contents of his mouth into the porcelain sink. He helped himself to the water pick and rinsed again.
Dr. Samson stepped away. “Well...how are you feeling?”
Harry’s eyes were wide again, but not from fear. “My god, I can talk again. My mouth...it doesn’t hurt at all!”
“I told you,” said Dr. Samson. “Wait right here, Harry.” He left and returned a minute later holding a small camera, one of the instamatics.
“Harry, you mind if I take your picture? We want to add you to our bulletin board.”
“Sure, go right ahead, Doc.” Harry beamed him a huge smile. There was a quick flash of light from the flash and then the mechanical clicking sound of the picture rolling out. Dr. Samson took it from the camera and placed it on a nearby counter.
Harry was massaging his jaw. “This is incredible. I can’t even feel the tooth.”
Dr. Samson smiled. “Guaranteed, Harry, you won’t have another problem with that tooth.”
Harry stood up. “Is this covered by insurance?”
“Absolutely. Biobots are all the rage right now with insurance companies because they cut costs dramatically.”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” mumbled Harry. “Say, Doc? Any eating restrictions or anything I should stay away from?”
“Eat like you normally would, Harry. Enjoy yourself. Been about a week, hasn’t it? Probably felt like a fast. My advice? Grab a burger or a huge sub somewhere and chow down. Fix a huge dinner tonight. Eat for a change.”
Harry nodded. “That sub sounds real good.”
Dr. Samson held up the picture. “Perfect smile here, Harry. You’re our newest satisfied client.”
But Harry didn’t go for the sub. As he was driving home, the nearby McDonald’s beckoned instead. Harry slid the car into the drive-through and ordered and extra value meal.
No hamburger ever tasted so good, he thought. He tore through the burger with ravenous devotion to satisfying his stomach’s lust. He smeared endless packets of ketchup all over his French fries and slurped the large Coke with no regard for how loud he might be. It was his car after all. And it was his meal. His first real meal in almost two weeks.
Harry was ecstatic.
What better way to celebrate his ecstasy than by creating some for others? Harry drove home and spent the afternoon making love to his wife.
And working up another large appetite.
“It’s amazing, honey,” said Harry that night over dinner. “I can’t feel a thing back there. It’s like it’s not even there.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Rick?”
“Dad, you got a robot in your mouth?”
Harry grinned. “Biobot, son. But pretty much the same thing, yes.”
“Cool. Can I see it?”
Harry shook his head. “Too small to be seen, Rick. But it’s there. I know it is. It’ll take about a week and then my tooth will be gone and the infection will be cleared up.”
“Cool, how’s it run?”
“You mean energy? The dentist said it worked on some new micro-molecular battery cells. They have a life of almost two years.”
“What happens to the biobot after your tooth is gone?”
“What?”
His wife gave him a look. “What happens after? Do you get it removed?”
Harry frowned. “Huh. I forgot to ask him that.” He shrugged. “I’ll call him first thing tomorrow.”
***
The following week is a busy one.
Harry, refreshed and back at work with a vengeance, tackles long overdue projects and turns in several reports. He’s up late at night working on the computer and little things are forgotten. Almost every night, he’s stumbled into bed at around midnight.
“Goodnight, honey,” says Harry leaning over and kissing his wife. “Love ya.”
“Love you, too, hon,” she says.
Harry lays back and closes his eyes. One week. No more tooth. A look into his mouth this morning had confirmed it. The tooth is gone. His mouth looks normal. No problems at all. Harry sighs and drifts off to sleep, his last thought to call Dr. Samson in the morning and ask about removal.
2 AM. Harry’s eyes bolt open. His mouth throbs. His screams are choked by the reservoir of blood in his mouth. He jerks about spraying blood everywhere as he claws at the sheets, trying to wake up his wife.
She wakes up screaming. “Harry! What’s the matter?”
“Ow, my mouth is-gack-killing me! The pain! Jesus Christ, the pain!”
“What should I do?”
“Call Samson, the dentist! Call him!! Oh, my god!”
“Harry!”
“My heart! Oh, dear god, this hurts so much!” Harry slumps back into bed, blood running from his mouth in streams, mixed with bone and saliva. The pain is horrendous and like nothing he’s ever experienced before, not even that kick to the groin from little Sue Martin in the sixth grade. Nothing compares. Harry writhes atop the sheets while his wife screams into the phone for an ambulance.
If he can just hold on until they get here and gas him unconscious or give him a shot of morphine or something-anything to quell the agony he’s going through.
Just a little while long-
***
“We’re very sorry, Mrs. Molarni.”
She sits there, mute, listening to the policeman. His hand is heavy on her shoulder.
“Why? What happened? Why did my Harry die?”
“The way it looks ma’am,” says the cop, “your husband had one of them biobot implants. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“What was the time frame on the program?”
“I...I don’t know. All Harry said was that his tooth would be gone in a week.”
The cop nods. “He forgot to get it removed, didn’t he?”
“He-he said he’d call. I don’t know...I guess he never did...”
“Problem with those biobots, ma’am, is that they keep on doing what they’re programmed to do. In this case, it was excavate teeth. Problem being, those little bots don’t have all that much pain killer stored inside ‘em, y’know? Your husband’s probably had enough for a week, no more. Come today when he didn’t have it removed, that biobot just went on digging and drilling. Only this time there was no nerve dampeners. Your husband felt everything. Pain got so bad, he up and had a heart attack.” He pauses. “I’m really sorry.”
She nods. “I can’t believe he’s gone...”
***
The policemen have left. The sheets have been changed. Rick has finally fallen asleep again. Tomorrow all the arrangements have to be made. She sighs. My god. My dear husband, gone.
The bed feels so empty without him. So void. Too much room she’ll never feel comfortable utilizing. But the pillow is soft and she lays there for some time before finally dozing off.
She never sees the biobot, washed out of Harry’s mouth by the deluge of blood, maneuvering its way along the carpeted floor. Inch by inch, circumnavigating the rug fibers, it finds its way to the bed post, then the sheets. It climbs, it moves, it never stops. The program must be obeyed. The tiny sensors probe but don’t detect any lazed targets. Only a mouthful of prospective ones. But that doesn’t matter now. The never-ending program directs the little biobot into the gaping mouth.
Her mouth.
And then, in the hazy afterworld of the death of a loved one, when sleep comes fitfully, but then finally and completely, only then...
the drilling resumes...
Cellmates
The concept of the bizarre life that exists in prison has always been a source of unease with me. I wrote this story back in late 1996, but never pursued publication for it. My focus was always the novel and a lot of my short stories sat without ever having been shopped around.
The metal bars shudde
red once and then screeched when the door to cell number four on the upper level opened. David Geoghean looked up and sniffed, taking in the faint odor of urine mixed with the smell of methane from the nearby swamp. The combination made his nostrils cringe.
A lone inmate was hurriedly mopping the stairs, but fell back as they crested them. He looked once at the huge guard that was escorting David before backing away, making little noise. Other than some mumbled whispers, there were no sounds here.
The guard pointed. “Your new home.”
David nodded. Gray as far as the eye could see. Everything was: the uniforms, the paint, the steps, the walls, and especially the bars. Never-ending gray bars surrounded David as far as he could see.
Scattered beacons of perversity, the faces of veteran convicts pressed into the bars on their cell doors. They whispered. Always whispered. Their eyes watched him and David shuddered.
He turned and peered into the darkness of his cell. The guard prodded him from behind. “C’mon, move your ass.” David Geoghean sighed, surrendered his last mental vestige of freedom, and stepped inside.
The door rattled shut behind him. Automatic. Not the old lock and key system of yesteryear. Everything was controlled electronically by the guard that sat in a booth high above the floor.
Bunk beds sat on the left side of the cell. The gray paint peeled off in places and had flecked into a small pile by one of the bedposts. Assorted pictures of half-naked women adhered to the stone walls by excessive amounts of masking tape. The most interesting aspect of his new home was the pristine toilet in the corner. It was sparkling clean which pleased David, himself disgusted at the thought of using a toilet not properly sanitized.
His cellmate sat on the top bunk. His long hair was held back by a thin rubber band and his mustache and beard were unkempt. A single earring dotted one ear and David almost grinned thinking how much the guy looked like a stereotypical prisoner.
“What’s yer name?” The voice was low. A harsh whisper. David shuddered again.
“Geoghean.”
“Name’s too tough. What’s yer first name?”
David looked at him. One eye seemed larger than the other. “David.”
The man nodded once. “I’ll call you Dave.” He moved off the bed easily, without making a sound and pointed once at the toilet. “That’s the can. I like
it kept clean. You got the runs or somethin’, make sure you clean it up good when you’re done. I don’t want none of yer crap spackle on my ass when I gotta squat. Okay?”
“Yeah, no sweat. I like it clean, myself.”
The man sucked his teeth. “Good.” He looked David up and down. “You look kinda skinny. How much you weigh?”
David shrugged. “One sixty or so.”
The man shook his head. “Not good. Ain’t enough meat on you to make the others wanna stay away. They’ll take you soon enough.”
“Take me?”
The man frowned. “You know, a little lovin’.” He peered at David. “Shit, boy, what you in for anyway?”
David clenched his jaw, hoping he looked tough. “Attempted murder.”
“That it?” The man chuckled. “Oh, boy, you best find yerself some defenders pretty quick. Attempted murder’s like finger-painting in this place. Everyone else already gone beyond that ‘attempted’ shit and graduated to full blown mass murdering. You starting this game with two against you already. One more an’ you’ll go down quick.”
David leaned against the stone wall, feeling the security of the cool rocks as they pressed into his back. “What’s your name?”
The man shrugged. “Name’s Calvarez. People call me Monk.”
“You religious?”
Monk just looked at him. “In this place, you gotta find some kinda god to pray to when they bend you over in the shower. And you better pray to a strong god, too.
Take a lot to keep them boys away. And they seen you already. You can bet they waiting for tomorrow to come pretty quick.”
On cue the cells around them erupted into hootcalls and wails. Voices screamed and wailed about fresh meat in the prison. Monk thumbed outside the cell.
“See? They waiting for sunup.”
David shook his head. “Shit. Is there anyway to get through this without giving it up?”
Monk grinned. “Only one way out of here without giving it up.”
“What is it?”
Monk shook his head. “No way, dude. I ain’t seen enough of you yet to give up the secret. Maybe you some sorta cop, undercover like. I don’t know you.” He grinned. “Then again, cops ain’t stupid enough to put a Joe under here with only ‘attempted murder.’” He laughed. “Shit, that a good one.”
David sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I was at Fairhurst Prison. It wasn’t a maximum security joint like this one. It was only attempted murder. Two months ago I was a pharmacist. One slip on the dosage scale and I get an attempted murder rap. Figures I would get the hellfire and brimstone district attorney.”
Monk laughed. “You ain’t even a real criminal. But you ain’t the first one come through here like this neither. See, this place got a real problem keeping prisoners alive. Most of ‘em lately been deciding that death a better alternative than permanent stitches on your asshole.”
“Jesus, I was almost married for crying out loud.”
Monk smiled. “Almost?”
David sighed. “She dumped me over the indictment.” He tossed his stuff onto the bottom bunk and sat on it. He looked at his cellmate. “Monk, you gotta help me. I can’t live with being raped.”
“No? Most guys in here do.”
“I can’t stand the thought of it.” David shook his head. “How can I get out of it?”
Monk nodded at his bed. “Best get yer bunk made ‘fore lights out. Tough to see after.” Then he jumped up onto the top bunk and lay down. In moments, a low mantra of snores filtered out of Monk’s bunk and echoed against the cold stone walls of the prison, the only sound in the pervasive darkness.
***
The rough hands woke him, and he started to scream in fear but one hand was firmly clamped over his mouth. David opened his eyes and saw Monk standing over him. He grinned and leaned closer.
“Don’t say nothin’. We gotta be quiet. Okay?”
David nodded once and the hands left him. “What’s going on?”
Monk frowned. “You wanted to know how to get outa bein’ banged, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Awright then, shut up and follow me.” Monk went to the rear of the toilet and pulled a small lever. Instantly the toilet swung out and revealed a small crawlspace.
David pointed. “We’re going in there?”
Monk smiled. “Better go in there then in yer rear.” He chuckled softly at his joke.
David frowned. “You first?”
Monk nodded and crawled into the blackness. David followed and heard the opening close behind them.
It was impossible to see. The lack of light made going tough and there was only the pervasive sound of scraping as the two of them made their way down the tunnel. David’s knees and shins began to bleed from the rocks digging into his legs and his
hands were a mess of scrapes. Once he thought he heard Monk say something but shrugged it off as imagination.
Finally, after ten minutes of travel, David could discern a change in the void. Differences in shade began to emerge and here and there David could just make out cracks of light around the outline of Monk’s butt.
And then suddenly they were out of the tunnel. Into the light.
David looked up and grinned. “We escaped?”
Monk turned and looked at him. “Escape? From there? No way. No one ever escape from this prison.”
“Why not?”
Monk shrugged. “Too difficult and the warden ain’t easy on escapees. Legend has it the guy been ‘round here since the beginning.” He rolled his eyes back. “That’d be ‘bout hundred years or so.”
Davi
d grinned. “Right. That old? Nobody’s that old.”
“That what they say.”
David shook his head. “Anyway, if we aren’t out of the prison, then where are we?”
Monk shrugged. “Dunno. Could be some old type of boiler room from the looks of the machines over there. Got that huge rock table in the middle. I think it’s granite. Ain’t been used in years. ‘Cept by me and a few other guys.”
“Other people know about this?”
Monk shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
“Nothing, it’s just I thought something like this would have to be kept secret.”
Monk grinned. “Uh uh. In fact, the more everyone know about it the better.”
“Why?”
The hands were on him then. There was no time to react. Before he could scream, David felt a grungy hand clamp across his mouth. David felt himself lifted and carried towards a huge slab of a table in the center of the room. He was placed on his back looking up at the ceiling as his arms and legs were tied down. The moldy smelling hand across his mouth came away abruptly but David could not speak.
The men around him wore hoods.
They had finished tying David down and then turned before Monk. Together they spoke in unison. “He is ready.”
Monk nodded. “Welcome, David.”
“....what is this? What’s going on?” The words came out, choked, mere wisps of the strength he wished he could convey.
Monk smiled. “Well, you wanted to know how to get out of being raped. This is the only way.” He turned to one of the hooded followers. “Is everything prepared?”
“Everything.” All spoke as one.
“What happened to your voice?” asked David.
Monk grinned. “You mean that ridiculous accent I had earlier? Merely a show.” He turned around as if to check something. “I must say, however, that your arrival was rather fortuitous.”
“...how?”
“Come now, surely you noticed the absence of noise when you arrived....?” He glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “You see, my followers and I need a sacrifice once a month or our god gets very restless. The other prisoners were up for grabs until you showed up. They were quite worried about it. When you came they knew, immediately, they had nothing to fear.” He grinned. “At least until next month.”